


Scalpel

by toesohnoes



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When people say that college is for experimenting, Eduardo doesn't think that this is quite what they have in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scalpel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for as part of round four of Five Acts.

The flat side of scalpel draws along Eduardo's chest, cold metal against his warm skin. Eduardo's eyes are wide and his breath comes in shallow, forgetful puffs. He watches the blade in fascination, unable to draw his eyes away.

Perched on top of him, Mark's face is a mask of concentration. The scalpel is like a pen in his hand, Eduardo's skin like paper, but he doesn't turn it to draw blood. Eduardo can feel a stiff ball of nerves in the centre of his chest, waiting for the pain and the blood that might come from a single falter in Mark's hand.

Mark shifts, adjusting his weight back and forth, and the hard jut of his erection rubs unintentionally against Eduardo's thigh as he moves. "Oh, god," Eduardo moans, unable to stop himself, but Mark is quick to shush him, sounding like an angry librarian in the process.

"I'm trying to focus," Mark reminds him. "I could take your nipple off if you keep it up."

And Eduardo knows that that is supposed to be a warning, but he ends up moaning again anyway, and he doesn't even know why. He's attached to his nipples, physically and emotionally. He has no desire for Mark to start slicing anything off, and the deepening frown on Mark's face proves that he doesn't want to do that either.

But it's the feel of Mark's hands on him, and the surety of his blade, that keeps Eduardo achingly hard. He trusts him, completely, not to let the scalpel slip.

Goosebumps chase the blade as it moves, and his heart hammers, and his hands form fists at his side as Mark trails lower, moving down over his navel. Eduardo clenches his teeth together so that he doesn't warn Mark to be careful; it doesn't need to be said. Mark wouldn't hurt him. Not ever.

He allows his eyes to drift closed, surrendering to Mark's careful, efficient hands and to the tickling scrape of his blade. He feels Mark's breath puffing against his cheek as Mark leans down, close enough to kiss, but doesn't fully close the distance. "I'm going to do it now," Mark says. "Last chance to back out."

And Eduardo should; he really should. College is about experimentation, but that usually means copious amounts of sex, not blades and blood and a dark new world.

Yet he bites down on his bottom lip to keep himself quiet, and allows his hands to grab tight handfuls of the covers of Mark's bed. He nods and takes a deep breath.

Slowly, careful, Mark turns the scalpel in his hand until the flat side becomes the sharp edge, razor-thin and ready on Eduardo's chest, a pin-point right below his nipple. Eduardo doesn't dare to open his eyes.

In one quick swipe, Mark draw it downwards. Light and shallow, it barely registers until seconds after the deed is done. Eduardo's eyes snap open and he looks down, past Mark's head, to the thin cut on his chest. Tiny beads of blood form like teardrops. It stings when he shifts.

Fuck. Fuck. He looks from the cut to the scalpel in Mark's hand - Mark, his best friend, the one person he could ever trust with this - and he feels himself balanced precariously on the edge. It won't take much to tip him over.

"Do it again," he instructs, his voice ragged and broken. It's never sounded so deep.

Mark hesitates, looking into Eduardo's eyes as if he's working out an equation. His pupils are blown, dark and desperate, and Eduardo nods his head frantically, answering whatever question it is that Mark hasn't asked yet. He'd say yes to anything Mark wanted. He always has.

Mark breaks eye contact and looks down to his chest again, shifting his scalpel to the other side. The point is positioned carefully, and Eduardo suffers a long moment of anticipation before -

God, there it is again, the sudden sharp nip of pain, the rush of endorphins, the shift of Mark's weight on top of him. With an embarrassed cry, Eduardo thrusts against Mark's restraining body and climaxes, barely touched, spilling spunk over the pair of them while blood beads and dries over the shallow cuts - scratches, really - on his chest.

Panting for air, Eduardo barely gets a chance to pull his mind together before Mark is on him, scalpel forgotten: just Mark's mouth and his hands and his long, eager fingers in Eduardo's hair. He thrusts his tongue into Eduardo's mouth, a heated claim, as if Eduardo handing over his skin and his blood hadn't been enough to prove that they belong together, blood brothers and more than that.

Mark ruts against Eduardo's hip, his cock leaving a line of sticky precome in his desperation. He grunts against Eduardo's mouth, their kiss uncoordinated and clumsy, his hips moving faster and faster. His hand shifts down onto Eduardo's chest, and when his fingers skim over the drying scratch he comes, shooting down onto the bed with a defeated groan. He slumps against Eduardo, his curls of hair tickling against Eduardo's mouth, and they breathe together, waiting for the world to stop spinning.


End file.
